


Our good friend Jack

by kalikoke



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bad coping mechanisms, Depression, Self-Medicating, why is it all my supergirl fic has been alex danvers angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalikoke/pseuds/kalikoke
Summary: Alex is Very Bad at dealing with feelings and has some questionable choices for coping mechanisms. At her favorite bar, she meets someone else who is, like her, bad at feelings.





	

# Some whiskey with your whiskey, ma’am?

_New York City, 2012._

“I’m cutting you off, Danvers.”

“Oh fuck off, Brian, you’re not my father.”

Alex slams the glass on the counter, hard enough that the only other patron in the bar, some black-haired chick trying to look tough in her leather jacket, brings her head up from her own drunken stupor. 

Well, here’s a scowl back, lady. From another broad with a leather jacket. 

“What’re you looking at?” she slurs. 

We’ll see who wins this round. The woman in the jacket just rolls her eyes and brings her scowl-gaze away from her and back into space. 

Thank fucking god. She’s had enough people staring at her this last week. 

“Look,” Brian lowers his voice, “you’ve had enough booze to fill a pool.”

Enough maybe to drown herself in. Which, come to think of it, didn’t seem like an awful idea. But that was besides the point.

“I don’t want to be the one to have to find you lying unconscious near a dump, _again_ , and have to call an ambulance to haul your sorry ass to the ER. _Again_.”

“Fine,” Alex grumbles, continuing to spin her glass around, “least you can do is give me some water, asshole.”

Brian scoffs, but doesn’t say anything when he heads into the back room. 

“What a fucking killjoy,” jacket woman pipes up all of a sudden. “People don’t come here to be saved, Brian,” she shouts, though Alex doubts he can hear her since, oh, the door is closed. “They come here so their problems disappear..for a bit.”

“Who the fuck are you?” 

Yeah, she wasn’t exactly the best at tact when she was fucking plastered. Did it fucking matter? They were in a bar, vulgarity was par for the course for a setting like this.

Not that it stopped her from dropping a few f-bombs here and there, the necessary geek references to make sure she fit in (which, really, wasn’t exactly a daunting task for someone of her interests), in such a “professional” setting as the Lab.

Ha. Ha. The Lab. 

_Godfuckingdammit._

She shoves the glass away. Maybe a little too abruptly, because it hits the tap a little too loudly. _Tink, TINK_. Was she going to fuck up this bar, too?

What the _fuck_ , Danvers. Get ahold of yourself.

At least Kara was in better shape. She may be seeing the end of her own career, but at least her little sister was seeing hers start to bloom in National City. 

It wasn’t enough, it never was enough, to make up for the shit she’d gone through, for what Alex put her through, but it was something. Something to keep her out of trouble, at least, to feel useful enough. To somebody. 

The radio was still on. Some woman’s voice comes on, Trish Talk or whatever.

“I’m sorry, it’s..” Her shoulders droop. She rubs her face, can barely look back at the woman beside her. “I get like this.” Heave a sigh, make it loud, try to show that yes, goddammnit, you do feel like shit. 

“Rough day, huh?” jacket woman smiles-or smirks, but it doesn’t really show in her eyes, “could say the same for myself.” 

“You got a sister?” 

“Best friend,” Jacket glances at the speakers blaring more of Trish Talk, “-adopted sister. Haven’t really…talked to her much lately.” Her voice peters out. “You’re the older one, aren’t you?” 

How the hell..?

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

Jacket woman smirks. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

Looks like they had more in common than the penchant for leather jackets and a mutual friend in good ole Jack.

“Yeah…I-” Alex stumbles over her words, not really sure how to continue. She plays with the (tragically empty) glass, “We’re adoptive, too.”

It wasn’t like her to just talk about Kara like this, let alone to a stranger in a divey bar in the middle of New York fucking City. But something about her, she supposes. 

Her turn to make an educated guess about a stranger.

“Complicated relationship?” 

“A bit. Her mother’s…,” Jacket Woman starts, but just shakes her head. “Let’s just say she’s-”

“A pain in the ass? Always giving you shit about things you can’t control?”

“Nah,” Jacket smiles, “I’ve let her know who’s really in control. To stay the fuck away from the daughter she’s fucked up.”

Alex smirks. “Wish I had someone like you, then. My mother, god, she’s always on my fucking case. About…” about what? “Everything. It’s never-”, she grinds her teeth, “it’s never good enough.”

And you know, maybe she was right. Hard to compete with someone who can fly, who can lift a boulder 5 times her size with ease, who wants nothing more than to help people, who’s literally too good for this world. Too good for Alex.

Jacket simply nods, like she knows what it’s like to feel second-rate, never living up to the expectations. Hell, maybe she does. 

Maybe she knows what it’s like to never quite live up to what others expect you to be. 

Get the best grades, go to the best schools, the fastest track to a PhD, top attention from the freaking director of the NSF for her research (it was _her_ work, not that fucking slimeball, and Somers _knew_ it), talks of maybe a faculty position in an R1 institution…

And for what? It’d all dried up in the span of 3 months. 

You’d think somebody would look after her in the goddamn ivory towers she’d slaved in for over 6 fucking years, but her asshole of a PI just shrugged, told her, best of luck, kid, you’re gonna need it after this.

Alex’s head starts to get bit fuzzy, like maybe her cerebrospinal fluid had been replaced by alcohol or some shit. Like maybe Brian was right-

“You know, it’s been awhile since Brian’s made a peep. You think he’s gotten sick of us and finally left?”

Jacket slides out of her chair and grumbles, “I’ll take care of it.” 

She kicks open the door with her boots and it gives way too easily. Way, way too easily for a human. Unless..?

Alex watches, or rather, listens to the commotion in the back room, and wonders whether she should go in and help or whatever. Enough dwadling, Danvers, get a move on and _do something_.

“Uh, lady?” she really should ask her for her name, this was getting ridiculous, “I’m coming in to help.”

Except she doesn’t have to, because a man collides with the edge of the bar. He rolls on the floor, apparently breathing but not exactly _with it_ , so to speak, at the moment.

“You’re welcome, Brian,” Jacket snarls. 

What the fuck?

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> **A/N** Yes, everyone, I wrote an Alex Danvers Meets Jessica Jones in a Bar and They’re Both Self-Medicating fic. Like a group therapy session, but with 2 people and no real counselor. 
> 
> Inspired by a conversation between ultranos and I on Alex Danvers issues. totally not projecting or anything. 
> 
> This isn’t actually the fic I wished to address past Alex Danvers angst, but here’s a version of it, I guess? 
> 
> _Random terms_ R1: a top-tier research university. NSF: National Science Foundation. (Decided to spare everyone of bio(eng) jargon in this one). 
> 
> I can’t actually remember if Jessica is slightly older than Trish, or if they’re actually the same age, but she sure as hell acts like a big sister. 
> 
> Sorry if there are grammatical and spelling-type errors or whatever. In my defense, I wrote this while waiting for this stupidass cough medicine to kick in. Still waiting, in fact. Oh wait, there it is.


End file.
